Wildflowers
by Dweller in the Deep
Summary: Complete. Finduilas loves her boys, yet the cruelty of their father may separate them…


Wildflowers

Summary: Complete. Finduilas loves her boys, yet the cruelty of their father may separate them…

From the beginning, Denethor had fixed ideas of what was reasonable and what was not. Finduilas, ever unassuming, bowed to his will uncomplaining.

At first there was love. Or at least he had chosen her, and she had loved him. How this came to be had ever been a mystery to her brother, Imrahil.

In time, a son was born to them, Boromir, and Denethor had great hopes for the boy.

'There is courage in his eyes.' he would say while admiring his son.

'You will be great, my son. I can feel it in my bones.' and Finduilas smiled into the dimness of the nursery as she set the boy to sleep.

Where other mothers would have deferred the responsibilities of motherhood to a handmaiden, Finduilas preferred to look after Boromir herself, for he had become her only friend, her only happiness in the whole city.

When he grew older, Denethor began to pay more attention to Boromir. He decided it would be better for the boy if Finduilas yielded responsibility to his tutors. 'The boy grows too soft under his mother's wing.' he said sternly. And Finduilas began to cry, the walls of their house instantly closing in on her.

'Do not take him away! Do not take away my son, my Boromir!' she begged and pleaded, for she had never asked anything else of him, never complained of the quiet which had reigned for so long in their house. Never complained of her own misery as she grew to realize that this man was not capable of loving her, no matter how much she had loved him in the beginning, and long since had she felt this feeling slip away in the silence and be re-focused on her son.

But her pleading was met with disdain, for Denethor was a man of little compassion, and Boromir was removed from her care, so that she saw him hardly at all.

It was the next year that she gave birth to her second son, Faramir, and she gave him all her love, and swore she would not let Denethor have him, and ruin him as he had ruined their other son. For Boromir was now arrogant, indeed, for a boy of his age, and she saw that he would never care for naught but bitter blades and the glory of war.

But in this child, Faramir, she deemed she could instil a love of the written word. She would not carve away at all his youth and innocence until he was bereft of all but the thirst for blood. She would make him see beyond these things, and save him as she had been unable to save his brother, whom she still loved but who had come to better like the company of his father.

Faramir flourished under her love, and she deemed she had succeeded in planting a seed of gentleness and goodness in his heart. A seed that would make deep roots and grow good council.

And Denethor took little interest in his new son, for his eldest was so magnificent. She tutored Faramir herself in the art of reading, and he helped her write many letters to her brother, none of which ever contained any hint of her suffering.

In Faramir's fifth year, he and Finduilas would often ride out onto the Pelennor, and she would instruct him on how to handle his mount.

And thus was the manner of things until Faramir's sixth year, when Denethor's thought was finally turned back to him and he saw fit to relieve Finduilas of her charge.

Maddened with fear for her son and what would become of herself, she argued with Denethor as she had never done before.

'I have given you a son. You have done with him as you have seen fit. But leave me my Faramir, for I have his love as I never had yours, and he is mine.'

And Denethor's rage was terrible to behold, and any would scarce believe that the frail form of Finduilas could have withstood it. Yet her gaze did not falter, and she remained unmoved before him.

'Nothing in this kingdom is yours. I have given you everything, and I am repaid with pride and greed. My son will be brought up no weakling, clinging to his mother's skirts with one hand and his hand trembling on his sword with the other.'

'He is mine, and I will not have you ruin him!'

A cruel, twisted smile formed on Denethor's lips, and he remembered all the jealous years he had spent watching his wife love their sons in the way she had never loved him.

'He must be trained with the sword, my wife. Surely you understand there are some things you can not teach him…'

Finduilas felt her heart fall and her shoulders sag in defeat.

'…some things you can not protect him against…I could teach him these things better.'

'You will kill him before the end!' Finduilas screamed, tears streaming down her face. 'If not his body, then his heart!' she narrowed her eyes and tried to control her rugged breathing. 'I will not let you. I will not! We shall depart for Dol Amroth. My brother shall slay you, Steward or no, if you follow us there.' and she would have run from the room, had Denethor not been the quicker and grabbed her arm painfully.

'This is not acceptable!' he screeched, mad with fury and not a little afraid in the face of her defiance. He was loosing control. He _needed _control. He needed to control _her. _'You are my wife, you will do as I bid!'

Ferociously, he struck Finduilas, and she lost her balance. She hit her head on the hard stone floor and moaned in agony.

'See what you have done!' he whispered angrily.

She woke in her chamber, the curtains drawn as they had been every day since her fall. The light gave her reeling headaches. She could barely stand to eat. But what pained most was that Denethor had gotten his way. Faramir was away from her now, learning the sword. 

Denethor came to see her once, and she begged him to let her see her son. He had only smiled, told her to interrupt his lessons would be harmful to his schooling, said she should rest, and left.

And now she felt she would not get better, and there was no need to. She had lost. She was lost now.

Day by day she felt herself slipping, and it was the only sensation to break the numbness, which filled the dark hours.

'Will you not let them see me again, before the end?' she asked Denethor, without emotion as he sat by her side. She was dying, they all knew now. Maybe he did feel responsible. Maybe that was why he was there now. What she didn't know was that he still loved her, after his own fashion. But he would not plead for forgiveness, though Finduilas (for she was shrewd) would have given him it, if only for her own sake so she might have peace in her departure. And perhaps she did pity him, for here was a man who would find no happiness in this world, and the one small joy he could boast would be taken from him brutally before the end.

'I shall send for both our sons.' he muttered gravely as he left.

The door was pushed open tentatively by Boromir, who had never displayed such timidness before her in the past. Faramir lurked beside him, his shadow.

'Come, my children, don't be afraid.' she smiled and held out her hand. Faramir, remembering this was the mother he loved, rushed forward and sat beside her on the bed, enjoying the way she stroked his hair and finding comfort in her gaze.

She looked up at Boromir, who had his hands clasped behind his back and was shifting nervously from foot to foot.

'Son, you have never sought me out for comfort since you were a young boy: and, indeed, it is doubtful you needed any, for you are brave and fearless.' she smiled at him kindly. 'Look after your brother. Do you promise me?' 

'I promise, Mama.' he replied without hesitation.

'Good boy.' and she held out her free arm so she could hold him, and he sat at her other side, crying silent tears.

'Faramir, you be good. Be brave, my son, and remember all that I have taught you. You will never be alone, my son, though at times you may feel it.'

'Mama, I heard one of the maids say you were dying. What does it mean? Are you leaving us?' his voice was weak and tearful. 

'No, Faramir. Not leaving you. I am going on a journey to a land of green fields and wildflowers. We will all meet there someday, but at present I must go alone.'

'Why?'

'To prepare things for your arrival, silly.' she smiled. 'Don't worry, my children. I will see you both again: even if I must move heaven and earth to do it.' she sighed. 'I must rest now. You may both stay with me if you like.'

They each curled up beside her and were lost in blissful sleep. Yet when they awoke, she was gone. Gone to that land of green fields and flowers.

***

In Ithilien, the wildflowers grow aplenty and thrive there in the spring. It is then that Faramir takes the hand of his wife and together they walk the gardens, and with the fragrance of the poignant wildflowers growing about them, he remembers his mother and knows they shall meet again soon.

- End -

A/N: it is so hard picturing Boromir as a child…and harder writing him that way. In fact, it's hard for me picturing anyone in LotR as a child. Except Denethor. I'm sure he was a barrel of laughs.

I was just minding my own business when, all of a sudden, I was hit by a wave of compassion for Finduilas. It inspired me to write this- unfortunately. 


End file.
